I had a reoccurring dream last night. One of the classics. It’s where I am running in slow motion. It’s not a nightmare, and I am not struggling get away from something, but trying to get back to something. The locations I am slo-mo traveling through are old neighborhoods of places I used to live as a kid and young adult. I see people in the windows of the buildings I pass by that I used to know. I am trying to get home, trying to get back to where I am safe and belong but where is it? 

This dream is easy interpret for me because the past three days, I have talking with my family about next steps for my Mom’s husband of 3+ years that suffered strokes this past season. I have been talking with my brother, my Mom, and her husband’s kids. Technically they are step-siblings, but I’ve only seen them a handful of times. Where’s the map for this journey?

It’s the new hardest thing. Harder than college, harder than work, harder than having babies. Why? Because of the uncertainty and tragedy. Taking care of a kid is hard, but there is hope things will get easier. The kid will learn how to put their own socks on and grow up. This the opposite. This is a grown, capable adult needing help with socks, and it’s not getting better, it’s getting worse. It’s heartbreaking and emotional and exhausting. 

I won’t get into the details of private lives, but when thinking about home, the person is the place. When you grow up and go out into the world, your parents are the hands that hold the string of your kite. If your parents break up or sell the family home, it’s tough, but at least you still have them. Until you don’t. One of my strings was cut, but some people’s frays.